


Jealousy

by decembersiris



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras Has Feelings, EnjonineWeek2018, F/M, Feels, Jealousy prompt, can't admit he wants eponine, enjolras gets the girl, is bad at feelings, isn't that cute?, jehan has a crush on eponine, maybe new unrequited ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 17:07:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decembersiris/pseuds/decembersiris
Summary: It's Marius and Cosette's wedding and Eponine Thenardier is the one to disrupt the crowd and turn the heads of more than one of Les Amis.





	Jealousy

Marius and Cosette’s wedding was a humble affair, and Enjolras expected nothing less from the man that loved and loved above all else. He wore a smile from ear to ear, a genuine one that reached his eyes as he basked in the light and love of his bride, and Cosette, the picture of loveliness, grinned, her eyes crinkling as she full-heartedly laughed, leaning into Marius as he held her in his arms. They were quiet the pair, Enjolras could understand why Marius would give his all for his darling wife. Their happiness was contagious, and Enjolras smiled as he watched the two dance, the music swelling, overwhelming the room as couples followed the bride and groom’s lead and took to the floor. Gowns, warm hues and gentle colors fluttered and encompassed the ballroom, the graceful shutters, whispers of fabric enticing the stragglers that watched.

Gruff laughs stole his attention, and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire with a drink in his hand, cackling and snortting with such an idiotic lack of refinery that Enjolras inwardly groaned and rolled his eyes. He saw then what resulted in the drunkard’s uncouth behavior and even resulted in a chuckle or two from Courfeyrac and Combeferre. It was Joly, all air of elegance lost, as he stumbled over his feet while trying to match Musichetta’s gentle sway as they danced together. Despite his friend’s obvious embarrassment, there was a smile on his face.

“Oh, look, Éponine has come,” said Jehan.

Enjolras, like the rest of the Amis, glanced over at the entrance. Éponine’s gown, blue as midnight, cut through the crowd of autumn and winter pastels. Strangers’ eyes turned on her, and Enjolras watched as she held up her chin, a mask he was all too familiar with that held back her discomfort and mild coyness. Her pale skin, porcelain against the velvet fabric, looked clean, looked soft, and her ebony hair, pulled up in an elegant, low bun, shined like silk. Enjolras could feel his cheeks begin to burn as he stared, and he frowned in irritation at the sudden warmth. Her dark eyes then found his, and he immediately looked away, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Will she dance with me if I ask?” Jehan asked, a sense of hope in his tone.

Enjolras’s jaw tightened; he had forgotten Jehan’s obvious child-like crush on Éponine.

“I daren’t say,” said Lesgle. “She only recently relinquished her feelings for Marius.”

“Perhaps she has found someone else,” returned Combeferre.

Enjolras scoffed, the very thought.

“Bonsoir, Éponine. You look quiet fetching this evening,” said the young poet.

He turned his head, and Éponine had entered their little circle, a small smile on her face, and Enjolras felt his throat work as his mouth turned dry.

“Hello, boys. How have you all been faring?” Her voice was sweet and gentle, vacant of the quiver accompanied by tears that Enjolras was used to.

“It has been—” Grantaire hiccupped while wrapping his arm about Enjolras’s shoulder, “quite the evening! You clean up well, dear Éponine.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes, “Sauvé as always, Grantaire.”

Grantaire grinned, a mouth full of teeth, “I am as charming as Enjolras here is genial.”

Courfeyrac choked on his drink while the others, Éponine included, chuckled at Enjolras’s expense, and he frowned, blood rushing beneath his skin, hating the lovely ring of Éponine’s laugh.

Grantaire’s friendly, well intended pat was more of a strong smack, and Enjolras huffed out a growl at the connection, stepping to the side so that he might maintain some slight distance from rosy cheeked drunk. Enjolras heard as Jehan asked Éponine to dance with him, and he bit the inside of his cheek again, watching as a smile framed Éponine’s face as Jehan led her to the dance floor. Immediately, Enjolras excused himself from his friends, his eyes hardly leaving the dark blue that stood out amongst the crowd. He hunted down a server and graciously took a glass of wine from offering platter. His anger subsided into something softer, heavier as he took a sip, and it made him uncomfortable. He scratched at the knuckles of his hand that held the glass, his eyes turning away from the pale skin draped in midnight to the floor at his feet.

The red of his wine reminded him of the crimson velvet Éponine typically wore. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the ruby liquid, and he drank it down as quickly as he could before handing the empty glass back to another traveling server. He walked back toward the crowd of people, the ones that would rather take to watching the dancers than partaking themselves. Enjolras watched Éponine as she glided across the dance floor with Jehan, biting his bottom lip as that heavy feeling grew heavier. Her smile was bright and sincere as she stared at Jehan, and Enjolras scratched again at his palm. What would she feel like in his arms and the gentle touch of her hand against his? Would her smile be for him, one akin to the many that Marius had so often given to Cosette? Enjolras shifted his stance as he watched them. He frowned again, hating the spot the Jehan had claimed, hating how close he held her.

Éponine spun and swayed in Jehan’s arms, their bodies moving together as string instruments shaped the music around the room. As Enjolras watched, scratching an itch that did not exist at his thumb, and Jehan’s back was to him, Éponine’s eyes turned from Jehan to him. Enjolras’s lips parted in surprise, her russet eyes shimmering in the light as she stared at him, a gentle smile on her face. His heart pounded, his eyes following her face as she turned away to look back at Jehan. His jaw tightened, the surprise and exhilaration vanishing as anger took to his blood, and he glanced down at his hand, scratching just beneath the nail at his thumb.

The music then stopped and the crowd and dancers turned to the musicians and applauded. As he clapped, he snuck a glance at Éponine who, with her hand on Jehan’s shoulder, whispered in his ear. She then left the poet’s side, weaving her way through the couples and crowd. She went to a server, finding herself a glass of champagne. Enjolras found himself walking toward her, his eyes sliding up the curve of her neck as she tilted her head back to finish off the last sip of her drink. When he reached her, he found himself foolishly silent, unable to bring forth words from his avalanche of thoughts. It was her that spoke first, though she did not give him the curiosity of looking at him.

“Pride has kept you away,” she said.

“I would not say that.”

She turned to him, her eyes piercing into his. “Ah, yes, my mistake. As lovely as your eyes are, dear Enjolras, green does not suit you.”

He frowned. “Your insinuations are pitiful to say the least.”

“Oh?” Her brow arched and her lips curled with a bit of mischief. “Then it was Grantaire who was staring at me so greedily from across the room.”

His scoff turned into a mild chuckle, “You think too highly of yourself.”

“You and I both know that is not true.” Éponine turned away from him to place her empty glass on server’s tray that slowly strolled her way. She looked back at Enjolras, a soft smile on her face. “Ask me.”

He straightened, his heartbeat awakening again. But he said nothing, hoping to maintain a small sense of pride.

“You did not come for me to merely chat,” she said. “Whisk me away, before Jehan tries again.”

“I should hate to part you from your beloved Jehan,” he returned bitterly.

“I shan’t be rude to a friend, but I still have a choice in who I would rather dance with.”

Enjolras hesitated, finding his mouth suddenly unbearably dry, but his hands no longer itched. His heart swelled with elation, but he kept it from his features, wary to hope too much.

“Quickly. Ask. You know how much I love the waltz,” she smiled.

His insides melted, all anger he had felt dissipating through his body and out his feet. He returned her smile with his own, mirth filling him and something else he could not describe that made his heart pound.

“Dance with me, Éponine.”


End file.
